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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24064033">When I watch the world burn</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emjen_Enla/pseuds/Emjen_Enla'>Emjen_Enla</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Doom Days [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Peaky Blinders (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Tommy is not the one who dies), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Arthur Makes Everything Worse, Drug Abuse, Episode: s05e06 Mr Jones, Gen, Lizzie Takes Charge, Panic Attacks, Post-Cliffhanger, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Tommy Shelby's Unending Paranoia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:07:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,597</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24064033</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emjen_Enla/pseuds/Emjen_Enla</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone follows Tommy out into the field at the end of 5x06. It’s the last person you’d expect.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur Shelby &amp; Tommy Shelby, Frances &amp; Original Character(s), Tommy Shelby &amp; Frances, Tommy Shelby/Lizzie Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Doom Days [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1762021</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>When I watch the world burn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title is from "Doom Days" by Bastille.</p><p>I'm very particular about what name a character uses to think of themself or other people. Therefore Tommy is "Mr. Shelby" in this fic, Lizzie is "Mrs. Shelby" and Arthur is "Arthur Shelby" because I figured that would be how Frances would think of them.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Saturday, December 7, 1929</strong>
</p><p>The morning of December 7<sup>th</sup>, 1929 dawned gray and foreboding.</p><p>Frances had a late start because she’d stayed up late waiting for Mrs. Shelby to go bed, just to make sure everything was alright. Mrs. Shelby had put the children to bed at their usual time and then closed herself in Mr. Shelby’s office with the radio on. She’d stayed there until almost three am, drinking, though she’d eventually turned the radio off. When she’d finally stumbled off to bed, she’d refused to answer Frances when she’d asked if something had gone wrong.</p><p>Frances was not stupid, and it was fairly obvious something had indeed gone wrong. She was fairly sure Mrs. Shelby had been listening to the Mosley rally on the radio, but it was hard to tell if she was upset because of Mosley’s politics or for some other reason. The whole business with Mosley confused Frances. Fascism was increasingly in vogue with the members of Parliament these days, but she wouldn’t have pegged Mr. Shelby as someone who would get caught up in the current. He had always struck her as a socialist who refused to admit it to anyone, himself included. She had gotten to know Mr. Shelby well enough over the years to know he didn’t like Mosley—the lengths to which he’d gone to protect the staff from him during that party alone proved that—but what she didn’t understand was why he was associating with him anyway.</p><p>These thoughts swirled in Frances’s head as she dragged herself out of bed that morning and dressed. She would have dearly loved to sleep for a few more hours, but there were many things which needed to be done and she had not gotten to the place she was now by slacking off. Years ago, back when she’d had something to go back to, she might have thought differently, but she didn’t anymore. Arrow House was all she had now, and she had no intentions of losing it. When she’d set her things down in her little room in the servant’s quarters for the first time, she’d sworn that she would never go back to her brother’s house, and she’d meant it.</p><p>Despite this, she was still a bit late getting down to the kitchen. A couple of the kitchen maids looked up as she came in, but none commented. The cook, however, was a different story. She glanced up at Frances then jerked her head further back into the kitchen. “Can I speak to you for a moment, ma’am?”</p><p>Frances nodded and followed the cook deeper into the kitchen to the room where they skinned animal carcasses. This was also the room in which Mr. Shelby had once killed a man. Frances hadn’t seen it happen, but most of the staff had heard the shouting and the gunshot which followed. Frances had also had the misfortune of seeing Mr. Shelby in the aftermath, when he’d woken her and ordered her to fetch Charlie. He’d been soaked in blood, and while Frances hadn’t ever been scared of him the way some of the other members of the staff were, that was an image she’d never been able to shake.</p><p>“Is something wrong?” Frances asked.</p><p>“Bob said you stayed up waiting for Mrs. Shelby to go to bed last night,” Edith said. “Did something happen?”</p><p>Edith was the first woman who had ever cooked at Arrow House so far as Frances knew. Mrs. Shelby had hired her a year before when Edith had been fired from the restaurant she’d worked at because the owner decided having a woman on the staff was too much fuss. Edith was on the young side to be the head cook for a such a grand house, but she was sensible and had a good ear for trouble. Her questioning the events of last night made Frances feel better about her own worries.</p><p>“I don’t know for sure,” she said. “I feel certain something went very wrong last night, but I’m not sure what. Mrs. Shelby wouldn’t answer my questions.”</p><p>“Maybe we’ll be able to overhear something once Mr. Shelby gets back,” Edith said, eavesdropping was something Frances would have lectured a younger servant about, but she let slide with Edith. “Do we know when Mr. Shelby is getting back?”</p><p>“He didn’t tell me before he left,” Frances said, though he’d been so off his head with laudanum the last time she’d seen him she was surprised he’d even noticed her presence. “It all depends on what went wrong, I suppose.” There was also always the possibility that Mr. Shelby would decide he didn’t want to deal with Mrs. Shelby and just stay in London. The master and mistress had been engaging in increasingly transparent efforts to avoid each other over the last few months. Frances knew there was betting pool amongst the servants about how long it would be before Mrs. Shelby found a solicitor brave enough to sponsor her for a divorce, but she hadn’t been able to track down the ring leaders and shut it down yet.</p><p>“I’m just worried,” Edith said, chewing on her lip. “There’s something in the air. It feels like something horrible is going to happen.”</p><p>“It’s just the fog,” Frances said. Privately she agreed, but she wasn’t about to indulge anyone’s anxious feelings when she had enough of her own. “Makes everything feel ominous.”</p><p>“You’re probably right,” Edith said with a smile. She took a steadying breath. “I should get back to the kitchen. Given how late Mrs. Shelby was up, I imagine breakfast is going to be late, but there’s still a lot to do.”</p><p>Frances walked with Edith back into the warm kitchen. As they entered one of the stable boys came clattering in through the back door, his eyes wide. “Mr. Shelby’s back!” he panted. “His brother is with him!”</p><p>Frances wasn’t sure what made her bolt up the stairs like the devil was on her heals, but she was in the entryway and reaching for the door handle before the door to Mrs. Shelby’s room upstairs even opened—apparently, she had been awake and watching herself.</p><p>Frances swung the door open onto a courtyard made ghostly with fog. Mr. Shelby’s car was parked and the brothers were standing next to it. Arthur Shelby was talking, but Mr. Shelby stood completely still, like he’d been turned to stone. Something was wrong, which of course Frances had already known, but the feeling became even more pronounced. After a moment Mr. Shelby turned and marched off into the fog, heading for one of the fields.</p><p>Mrs. Shelby came down the stairs, padding in slippers and wrapped in a robe. She looked hungover and exhausted. She paused in the entryway for a moment then headed outside to meet Arthur Shelby who was staring off into the fog where Mr. Shelby had vanished.</p><p>Frances stood in the doorway, trying to make sense of the feeling of doom that had spread over her. She’d been worried all night, but everyone was alive now, there was no reason to feel like she had that day when James had—</p><p>And then everything clicked. Frances was running before she realized she’d decided to move. Her shoes clattered on the stones of the driveway and then sunk into damp grass as she flew off into the fog, running like she hadn’t run in ten years.</p><p>~~~~</p><p>Ten years before, the Great War had ended and those who had survived had come home. Only they hadn’t, not really. Frances had lost her younger son to the war, her husband and daughter to the Spanish Flu. Her only remaining family member—save for her brother who she had been largely estranged from for years—was her older son, James. He had been away in France too and like most of the boys who had gone away he did not come back the same. When he’d returned, Frances had been working as a housekeeper at a big house in the country to avoid having to move in with her brother. When it became obvious that James was in no shape to live in his own, she’d brought him to live in the big house with her. Of course, she was not supposed to have anyone living in her small room in the servant’s quarters with her, but the other servants had kept it quiet and James lived there for several months with the master none the wiser.</p><p>That was different than saying things got better. James was not alright and that was obvious to anyone who met him, especially to people who had known him before. Frances kept doing the best she could and hoping things would get better but it quickly became obvious that whatever was wrong with James was not something she knew how to fix. Some of the other servants started talking about how he just needed to stop moping and get back to work, but Frances had known there was more wrong than that. That didn’t help her figure out how to help him, though.</p><p>And then things had taken a turn for a worst she hadn’t even considered possible. One foggy morning just before Christmas she’d gotten up at her usual time to begin her day. James had been curled up on his pallet on the floor—no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t convince him to take the bed. He’d taken to sleeping late into the morning and sometimes into the afternoon so she’d assumed he was still asleep. She’d tucked the blankets more tightly around him, kissed his forehead and gone off to her work.</p><p>A few hours later an accident in the kitchen left Frances with the family’s breakfast all over her skirt so she’d headed back to her rooms to change. James’s pallet was empty and he was nowhere in sight. Frances had concluded that he must be feeling better today, but a feeling of wrongness persisted anyway. She’d changed and went back downstairs, deeply unsettled for no reason she could pinpoint. Then she’d looked out the kitchen window and saw James vanishing into the misty grounds, holding something she couldn’t name in one hand.</p><p>Frances tried to go on with her work. James spent a lot of his time wandering the grounds so there was really no reason to think he was doing anything other than going on another walk. Still, she couldn’t shake a deep-seated feeling that something was wrong. It got to be too much and she’d headed out after her son. The mist lay heavy across the fields and she’d lost sight of James. After a few minutes she started calling for him, not sure why she felt so strongly that she needed to find him.</p><p>If only she’d gone immediately. As it was she found her son in the fog just in time to watch him shoot himself in the head.</p><p>The master and his family had just been sitting down to breakfast when James pulled the trigger and they heard the gunshot. The master and some of the servants when out searching and they found Frances cradling James’s body, covered in blood and sobbing.</p><p>It had not gotten better from there. The master had been convinced James was planning to murder him and his family in their sleep so he’d called the police. The police had discovered the gun James had used had been the master’s and that James must have picked the lock on his office door and stolen it. They called James “dangerously disturbed” and said he should have been in an asylum. The priests told her that James was in Hell because suicide was the only sin that could not be forgiven.</p><p>Frances was fired after that and with nowhere else to go she moved in with her brother who was no better. After one blowout where he told her that “only a stupid woman couldn’t see that it would have been better if he’d died in France” she’d vowed to stop talking to him and kept to that promise. She hadn’t said another word to him the entire time she’d lived with him, a feat helped along by the job she’d gotten in the factories.</p><p>Then she’d gone out one day and stumbled across Mary who was not necessarily her friend but definitely someone she knew from her days in service. It turned out that Mary had recently quit her position at Arrow House.</p><p>Arrow House was something of a topic of discussion in Birmingham. It had once belonged to a member of society who had ended up bankrupt. After that it had been bought by the Shelbys who were the leaders of the infamous Peaky Blinders—Small Heath’s local razor gang that had been making moves into supposed legitimacy over the last few years. Knowing Mary, Frances was surprised she’d worked for the Shelbys at all.</p><p>“It started out alright at first,” Mary had explained. “But things went off the rails when the mistress died. Mr. Shelby was attacked and sustained a skull injury. Then the police came and most of the Shelbys were arrested. I left before my reputation could be irreparably damaged.”</p><p>“Did he find a new housekeeper?” Frances asked not really aware of why she was asking. What did it matter to her?</p><p>“Not that I know of,” Mary said. “He’ll have a hard time finding someone, though. Everyone knows they’re gangsters.”</p><p>Frances had nodded and agreed and the conversation had moved on to other things. It wasn’t until she’d gotten home that night that she realized she was thinking about applying at Arrow House herself.</p><p>At first she tried to push the thought away, but slowly the logic of the idea began to grow on her. She hadn’t been able to get another job since being fired from her old position. The upper class talked and no one wanted the woman whose son had killed himself on the property working for them. What if she was dangerously disturbed too?</p><p>If anyone was going to hire her regardless of her previous employment it would be the Shelbys. They couldn’t be the kind of people who cared about people’s pasts. Also, the three older Shelby brothers were veterans of the Great War. They had been in those same trenches as James had been. Surely, if anyone was going to understand what had happened to him it would be them.</p><p>The next day she went to the corner store at the time she knew the person working would be the one who wouldn’t gossip to her brother and called Arrow House. “Hello,” she said when a servant answered the phone. “I heard that you were in need of a new housekeeper. Is the position still open?”</p><p>The application process was more formal than she would have thought given the man whose house she was applying at was a gangster. Mr. Shelby did the interview himself and while he drank whiskey and smoked the whole time, he was otherwise perfectly civil; nothing like what she’d expecting. He offered her the job at the end of the interview, which was another thing she hadn’t expected. She later learned that before the interview he’d done enough research into her background to know every dirty secret she had before she even walked into the room, but at the time she hadn’t known to expect that. She’d simply accepted the job and been thankful he hadn’t heard about James—it had never occurred to her that he already knew.</p><p>Working at Arrow House took some getting used to. Mr. Shelby didn’t really have any concept of how a house with servants was supposed to be run, which meant that nothing worked quite the way Frances expected it too. He also didn’t trust any the of the servants at all and wouldn’t let the baby out of his sight. He took little Charlie to work with him all the time and left him the care of his secretary, Miss Stark—who was a whore, as the other servants had informed Frances with relish—when he didn’t. He wouldn’t let Frances or any of the maids even touch the baby. The whole thing seemed ridiculous to Frances, though she eventually managed to divine something about a kidnapping and the arrest of the rest of the Shelby family from the maids though none of them really had a firm grasp of what happened. Such paranoia surrounding a child shouldn’t have been sustainable, but Frances thought that Mr. Shelby might have been able to carry it on for an indefinite amount of time if not for the obstacles posed by his own health.</p><p>The story of Mr. Shelby’s injury was a bit less convoluted in the retelling. Apparently, Mr. Shelby had been gone all night and come home in the morning hideously injured. He’d then proceeded to fire all the former soldiers on the staff. Once that was done, he’d had the one man still left on the staff drive him to London where he’d spent a long period of time in the hospital before returning to Warwickshire and apparently scaring the wits out of most of the staff by wandering around the house high on morphine and talking to ghosts. The staff had been told he’d sustained his injury by falling off a horse, but Frances could tell that no one believed that.</p><p>That head injury was what really changed things around Arrow House. Mr. Shelby was nothing if not tenacious but that didn’t change the fact that he had sustained a major injury fairly recently and that wanting to be completely recovered and behaving like you were did not actually make you recover any faster. As a result, Mr. Shelby was periodically bedridden those first few months. During these times, even though he very viscerally did not want Frances anywhere near Charlie, the child was incapable of staying quiet enough for his presence not to be torturous. Therefore, he had no choice but to let Frances take care of the baby, and things got better from there.</p><p>Well, somewhat better because it didn’t take long to figure out that things didn’t ever truly get better where Thomas Shelby was concerned.</p><p>~~~~</p><p>Frances ran through the fog, searching, her heart in her throat. Part of her kept chanting that this was ridiculous, that she should go back to the house and make sure everything was in order for breakfast. It was not her job to go chasing after the master when he probably just wanted the space to plot and scheme in peace.</p><p>But the fog was like the it had been the morning James had died, and Frances was not stupid and she was not unobservant. She knew about the drink and the laudanum—actually she probably had a better idea just how much of both there was than Mrs. Shelby did given all the servants reported what they found while cleaning to her. She knew about the insomnia, and she and most of the other servants had heard him talking to people who weren’t there. Mr. Shelby was coming apart at the seams and, yes, that was not really Frances’s problem, but every time she thought about doing nothing, she thought of James and she couldn’t do it.</p><p>The field she’d followed Mr. Shelby into was so dense with fog that she couldn’t see anything. She slowed and looked around, squinting against the blinding whiteness, looking for a tell-tale black coat. She took a step forward and her shoe landed on something soft, she bent down to pick it up and found it was Mr. Shelby’s cap. She picked it up carefully—though it wasn’t one of the ones with razorblades in the brim and was already covered in mud—and moved on.</p><p>The fog twisted around her as she continued forward. This was almost worse than when she’d gone looking for James. When she’d gone looking for James that day she’d been naïve; she knew exactly what could happen now.</p><p>Then she heard a shout, more of a scream really, a man’s scream. She broke into a run, her boots sliding and sinking into the mud. She broke through the fog and there was Mr. Shelby. He was the one screaming and he was holding his gun to his head.</p><p>It was all so familiar; Frances’s legs almost gave out. She stumbled forward, heart racing, trying to figure out what to do. She had to do something. She couldn’t just—</p><p>“Mr. Shelby!” She yelled with all her voice. That was the only thing she could think to do. All she could do was yell and hope he could hear her over whatever war was going on in his head. “Mr. Shelby!” She edged closer. She didn’t want to startle him—he was holding a loaded gun and she wasn’t sure he would recognize her in this state.</p><p>“Thomas Shelby!” she shouted.</p><p>This time got through to him. She could tell by the uneven gasp and the way his shoulders somehow got even more tense. He didn’t lower the gun. “Go back to the house, Frances,” he ground out. His voice sounded like he’d swallowed gravel, or like he’d been strangled.</p><p>“Put down the gun,” Frances said, moving to circle around in front of him. She kept her movements slow, like she was trying to approach a frightened dog.</p><p>“Go back to the house!” He repeated. It was obvious he was trying to sound commanding but couldn’t manage it.</p><p>“Put the gun down,” she repeated.</p><p>“I gave you an order, Frances,” he growled. “Go back to the house!”</p><p>“No,” she said, firmly. It was obvious he wasn’t going to shoot himself while she watched so as long as she stayed she had a chance to talk him down.</p><p>“Frances—” He began. He still had the gun pointed at his temple; it made every breath and word and moment feel that much more urgent.</p><p>“Put the gun down, Mr. Shelby,” she said, as calmly and persuasively as possible, “and we can both go back to the house.”</p><p>“This isn’t your decision,” he ground out.</p><p>“No,” she admitted. “But I don’t think you’re in the right frame of mind to make this kind of decision. Come back to the house. I’ll make you some tea and then you can rest.”</p><p>“Give me one good reason why I should,” he ground out, turning to face her more fully.</p><p>She was close enough now to see him fighting for breath. He was shaking and the color of paste. Even his lips were pale. She tried to think of the right thing to say. The obvious thing would be to point out Charlie and little Ruby, and ask how he was going to justify leaving them without a father, but that didn’t feel right. She’d known Mr. Shelby for years and she knew he cared for the children; she knew that was probably something he’d already thought of himself. It would be cruel to bring it up again. She needed something else to say, something that didn’t involve other people, a reason to live just for himself. She cursed herself for not immediately knowing what to say. She’d spent years retracing her steps the morning James had died trying to figure out how she could have gotten to him in time to save him; why had she never thought of what she’d say if she had?</p><p>It wouldn’t have mattered, though, Mr. Shelby was not James. Even if she had figured out what to say to convince James to go on, the same words would not work for Mr. Shelby. She needed something else…</p><p>“The horse auctions in the spring,” she burst out.</p><p>He blinked. “What?”</p><p>“You should stay for the horse auctions in the spring,” she repeating, trying to sound calmer than she actually was. “You always look forward to them and I know you were talking about buying Charlie a yearling and teaching him to break it to saddle.”</p><p>He made a sound that was half snort half choke. “<em>That’s</em> the best you can come up with?”</p><p>“You asked for one good reason why you shouldn’t kill yourself today,” Frances said. “That’s one good reason, but if you want more: Christmas is coming. Mrs. Thorne’s baby is also coming. Little Ruby will be big enough to learn to ride next summer. And someday Charlie might actually learn to play the violin in a way that doesn’t sound like a cat being strangled.”</p><p>He tried to laugh but the sound that came out was more of a sob. He took a step and swayed precariously. Frances moved forward to catch him but it was too late. He collapsed to the muddy ground like all his strings had been cut. He folded over until his forehead touched his legs. The hand holding the gun finally fell away from his head and lay in the mud palm up, fingers curled loosely around the weapon.</p><p>Frances knelt down next to him and gently removed the gun from his grasp. He didn’t fight her. It took her a moment to find the gun’s safety, but once she did she slid it into the string of her apron. She wasn’t sure what else to do with it, but just leaving it lying the mud seemed like a bad idea.</p><p>When she’d taken the gun away from him, Mr. Shelby, he’d drawn his arms in to wrap tightly around his stomach, turning himself into a small ball. He was shaking visibly and panting.  Actually, Frances was actually fairly sure he was crying though he didn’t make any noise. She didn’t say anything, just placed a gentle hand on his back and began to move it in small circles. He stiffened but didn’t tell her to get off so she kept rubbing and eventually he began to relax.</p><p>She wasn’t sure how long they sat in that field, though slowly the sun rose and began to chase the fog away. She lifted her face to the sun, as it broke over the trees, bathing the field in light. Still, despite the light, it was cold and she wasn’t wearing a coat. The wind cut through her thin dress and turned her breath into puffs of steam.</p><p>Mr. Shelby’s shaking had stilled and he wasn’t fighting quite so hard for air anymore. “Let’s go back to the house,” she ventured after a while. “We’ll have tea. You must be half frozen. I know I am.”</p><p>He didn’t so much lift his head as he turned it so he could see her. He seemed to notice for the first time that she wasn’t wearing a coat. His eyes widened a little. After a moment he nodded and sat up, moving slowly like it hurt him. He swiped a sleeve across his face and if his eyes were a little red neither of them mentioned it.</p><p>Frances scrambled to her feet. Her dress, apron, stockings and shoes were absolutely ruined with mud. She tried to wipe the worse of it off, to no success. After a minute she gave up and simply held out a hand to help Mr. Shelby up. He took it without comment.</p><p>Getting him to his feet was so much of a struggle and he was so unsteady once he made it that she immediately drew one of his arms over her shoulder to help keep him on his feet. He leaned heavily against her, exhausted. His shoes, trousers and coat were coated with mud as well. Neither of them said anything and after a moment they began the slow trudge back to Arrow House.</p><p>~~~~</p><p>Frances let them into the house through the servant’s door which lead into the kitchen. She wasn’t sure what made her do it. Somehow, she just knew that going back into the main house would be a mistake. It probably helped that she had no idea what to say to Mrs. Shelby or Arthur Shelby and therefore didn’t want to run into them.</p><p>The kitchen was a riot of noise as preparations for breakfast continued, but it fell into silence as Frances and Mr. Shelby came in. The servants stared. Some of the other Shelbys had a habit of congregating in the kitchen rather than the upstairs rooms, but as far as Frances knew the last time Mr. Shelby had been down here had been years ago and he’d been brutally murdering someone.</p><p>Thankfully, Edith was nothing if not quick-thinking. “Everyone out!” she shouted waving the other servants away. “Give us some space!”</p><p>They filed out with quick precision. Frances saw that the maid Shandra was particularly quick to the leave. Frances was pleased to see the girl had at least gained some fear of Mr. Shelby from being caught in a compromising position in his office with one of his friends. In any other house she would have immediately been fired, but Mr. Shelby hadn’t. <em>“He told me that the only way to get fired here was by burning toast or talking to the police”</em> Shandra had explained when Frances had cornered her about the whole affair. He must have been high as a kite at the time. Everyone at Arrow House knew what the Shelby family’s real business was, but Mr. Shelby rarely talked about it openly when he was in his right mind.</p><p>Edith was the only person who didn’t leave the kitchen. She moved the various pots and pans off the heat so they wouldn’t burn and then put on a kettle for tea. Frances sent her a grateful look as she and Mr. Shelby made their slow way across the kitchen to the large table in the center. Mr. Shelby collapsed into one of the chairs and put his head down on the table. Frances patted him lightly on the back and went to wash the mud off her hands in the sink. She set the gun on the windowsill before wetting her hands.</p><p><em>“What happened?”</em> Edith mouthed, and Frances shook her head.</p><p>When her hands were clean Frances filled a basin with water and carried it and a towel to the table. She set it next to Mr. Shelby. “Wash,” she said. “Your hands are filthy.”</p><p>He lifted his head a little and glared. She just raised an eyebrow in response. After a moment he sighed and obeyed.</p><p>By the time his hands were clean, the kettle was whistling and Edith was making tea. When she finished, she set one cup by Mr. Shelby and one by Frances before taking the basin away.</p><p>“I can—” Frances began but Edith cut her off.</p><p>“I’ve got it,” she said and carried the basin off.</p><p>Frances and Mr. Shelby drank their tea in silence. It was a bit awkward and Frances kept trying to think of something to say, but everything seemed too small in the face of what had just happened. For his part, Mr. Shelby didn’t seem aware of the silence. His expression was vacant, like he wasn’t completely present. He had his elbows planted firmly on the tabletop and Frances was fairly sure that was the only thing keeping him from swaying too far to one side and falling out of his chair. His hands were shaking so badly she was afraid he was going to drop his teacup. She hoped she’d be able to convince him to lie down for a while once they finished their tea. That wouldn’t solve the problems which had gotten them here, but she couldn’t help thinking that some sleep would definitely make things a bit easier.</p><p>Edith came back from dumping out the basin and returned one of the pots to the stove. Within minutes she was ladling up two steaming bowls of porridge and some toast. Frances was calling it: Edith was the best cook she’d ever worked with.</p><p>Edith set the bowls on the table along with sugar and jam—it appeared she’d opted for speed over the usual opulence required as the head cook of a house like Arrow House. Frances immediately set to work doctoring her bowl of porridge but Mr. Shelby didn’t even glance at his. After a moment, Edith lightly touched his arm. He jumped like he’d been shocked and almost dropped his teacup. Edith took a step back. “Just me,” she said. “You should eat.”</p><p>Mr. Shelby looked from Edith to the porridge and toast. A vaguely nauseous look passed over his face, but he was obviously more present than he’d been since they’d entered the kitchen.</p><p>“Eat,” Frances said, fearing she was pushing her luck ordering him around, but after a moment he took a piece of toast on nibbled on it dry, which she supposed was better than nothing.</p><p>He still didn’t say anything and neither did Frances, but it was less awkward now that they were eating. Edith bustled around the kitchen doing this and that. Frances was fairly sure she was carrying on with the preparations for a simpler breakfast for the rest of the family.</p><p>Mr. Shelby had finished one piece of toast and started on a second with a little more enthusiasm before Frances started to consider how to broach the subject of going to bed. Then there were steps on the stairs. She prepared herself to send whatever staff that were coming down off to do other work, but then Mrs. Shelby and Arthur Shelby stumbled into the kitchen. Mrs. Shelby had gotten dressed and seemed more awake than she had the last time Frances had seen her. Arthur Shelby almost melted to the floor in the relief when he saw Mr. Shelby.</p><p>“Tommy!” he crossed the floor in a few loping strides and clapped a heavy hand on his brother’s back, causing Mr. Shelby to sway somewhat wildly. Frances was sure he was going to actually fall out of his chair this time, but he managed to catch himself on the edge of the table.</p><p>“Get off, Arthur,” he grumbled. It was the first thing he’d said since he’d been holding a gun to his temple.</p><p>Arthur Shelby dropped into the chair across from Frances, visible relief on his face. “We didn’t know where you went,” he said in a rush, like a child waiting to be soothed. “After a while we got worried and went out looking for you, but we couldn’t find you anywhere.”</p><p>“We found your cap, though,” Mrs. Shelby came over. She looked like she was trying to seem like she hadn’t been worried, but was failing miserably. She set Mr. Shelby’s battered and muddy cap on the table. “You’re welcome.”</p><p>Frances didn’t even remember when she’d dropped the cap. That was a problem for a different time, though. Now that there were more Shelbys here the familiarity she’d been treating Mr. Shelby with was no longer acceptable. She got up and began to gather up her dishes while Mrs. Shelby took the chair Frances had just vacated. Frances knew the mud coating her skirts and shoes was obvious but thankfully no one commented.</p><p>Mr. Shelby glanced at the cap and then away again. He didn’t say anything. For a second Frances thought he was going to sink back into whatever stupor had gripped him before Edith had convinced him to eat, but after a moment he reached for his teacup again and his hands were mostly steady.</p><p>“Where were you?” Mrs. Shelby asked, her poorly concealed worry bleeding into her voice. “Arthur and I were screaming for you. I thought—” whatever it was she had thought she didn’t say. Frances wondered if Mrs. Shelby had also been aware of how bad things were.</p><p>“Went on a walk,” Mr. Shelby said which Frances supposed was true, if a horrible kind of true.</p><p>“And then you came back here?” Arthur Shelby asked. “Why didn’t you come find us?” Mrs. Shelby looked more obviously worried.</p><p>“Why would I need to? You found me just fine on your own,” Mr. Shelby said. Maybe that was meant to be a joke, but his tone was so dead it was hard to tell.</p><p>“We need to talk about things,” Arthur Shelby said barreling on like a bull with no sense for the fragility of the situation he’d just walked in on. Mrs. Shelby seemed to understand because she gave him a sharp look which he ignored. “We need to make plans. Mosley might be onto us.”</p><p>“Mosley isn’t onto us,” Mr. Shelby said sounding unspeakably tired. “If he was we’d all be dead or arrested by now.”</p><p>Mosley. So, this did have something to do with the Mosley rally the night before. Frances wasn’t sure she wanted to know what the Shelbys had gotten themselves mixed up in now, but she knew that if whatever it was involved harm to Oswald Mosley in any way he would deserve it.</p><p>“Then who was it?” Arthur Shelby demanded. “Who? You have to know, Tom. Tell us!”</p><p>That was obviously the wrong thing to say. Mr. Shelby’s hands started shaking so badly he almost dropped his teacup. He set the cup down and clenched his hands into fists in an effort to control them. When that didn’t work, he moved them into his lap. “I. Don’t. Know.” It sounded like he had to force the words out one by one. “I told you this last night. Why are you asking again?”</p><p>“B-But—” Arthur Shelby obviously didn’t know what to do in the face of that information. “You have to have some lead, Tommy. What are we supposed to do if you don’t—”</p><p>“Arthur—” Mrs. Shelby cut in. “Shut up. You’re not helping.”</p><p>“Mosley didn’t know,” Mr. Shelby repeated, only his tone was so breathless he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “The only people who knew were Arthur and I,” he paused to take a wheezing breath. “Arthur and I. Uncle Charlie, Johnny Dogs and Aberama Gold.” Another breath. “And Barney. And Finn. That’s it. Aberama and Barney both died last night so that clears them. Everyone else is above suspicion to start with. Who else is there?”</p><p>“We’re going to talk about you hiding this from me, you know,” Mrs. Shelby said. Mr. Shelby didn’t respond.</p><p>“What about Michael?” Arthur Shelby said. “He’s pretty pissed off at you, and I don’t trust Gina.”</p><p>“He had no way of knowing,” Mr. Shelby said, shaking his head. “Everyone involved heard what he said at that family meeting. No one would have told him.”</p><p>“Finn might have,” Mrs. Shelby said quietly. “He’s just a kid, after all. Michael’s his cousin. He might not have thought he would betray us to get back at you.”</p><p>“But that would…” Horror coated Arthur Shelby’s voice. “Finn’s a good kid. He wouldn’t—”</p><p>“Lizzie’s right,” Mr. Shelby admitted, heavily. “It’s a definite possibility.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“I thought you wanted me to solve this for you, Arthur?” Mr. Shelby snapped. “You can’t have both that and me playing nice with you.”</p><p>Arthur Shelby shut up.</p><p>“This theory does beg the question of why Mosley <em>doesn’t</em> know, though,” Mrs. Shelby said into the silence. “I don’t think Michael would do something like this out of petty vengeance. If he had a hand in this he would have wanted you out of the way so he could take over. The simplest way to do that would have been to warn Mosley which would end with you either dead or completely discredited and in prison for attempted assassination of an MP. If Michael caught wind and told, why not tell Mosley?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Mr. Shelby said, the pitch of his voice rising towards hysterical. Frances wanted to say something about how this was obviously not the right time to have this conversation, but the Shelbys appeared to have forgotten she and Edith were there and she—shamefully—wanted to hear the rest of the conversation. This was probably her only chance to figure out what was going on with Mosley. “Maybe this was just the first wave of a bigger plan. He’s after my crown. This whole thing was started by him not selling those fucking stocks. Maybe all of this is his plan. Maybe he’s been manipulating me into—”</p><p>“Tom, that’s enough,” Mrs. Shelby said, touching his arm. He flinched away from her. “Right now,” she went on, her lips pursed in worry. “I think the ‘larger conspiracy’ theory sounds a bit paranoid. We’ll come back to it if we exhaust all other theories. Alright?”</p><p>Mr. Shelby put his forehead down on the table and wrapped his arms around his head. His hands were still visibly shaking. Arthur Shelby looked like he was about to panic because Mr. Shelby was panicking. Only Mrs. Shelby remained calm.</p><p>Silence fell over the table for a few minutes. Frances was just starting to hope the conversation was over for the time being, when Mrs. Shelby said, “You said that everyone who knew about the plan who didn’t die last night was above suspicion. Are you sure?”</p><p>It seemed this conversation was to be a study is just how horrified Arthur Shelby could become. “You’re not suggesting one of the family—” he began like they hadn’t just been discussing the possibility Michael Gray had betrayed them.</p><p>“Not a member of the family,” Mrs. Shelby said. “Johnny Dogs.”</p><p>Mr. Shelby went more rigid than Frances had ever seen him before, which was impressive given the last hour. “It wasn’t him,” he growled into the tabletop. “He’s above suspicion, just like the rest of us.”</p><p>“You told me that he was the only person besides you and Polly who knew where the Golds were camped when Bonnie was killed,” Mrs. Shelby said. “Who gave the Billy Boys their location is another unsolved mystery this would explain.”</p><p>“I trust him,” Mr. Shelby said, tone almost pleading.</p><p>“Until recently you trusted Michael too,” Mrs. Shelby said, expression apologetic.</p><p>“Aberama did drag him over here screaming about how he was a traitor, didn’t he?” Arthur Shelby asked.</p><p>“Aberama was grieving and injured,” Mr. Shelby said. “He wasn’t thinking clearly.”</p><p>“And then there’s the matter of the maid you caught Johnny fucking in your office,” Mrs. Shelby said. Frances tensed. She hadn’t expected Shandra to be dragged into this. “What was going on there? What were they doing in your office? Come to think of it, how did they get into your office? It’s always locked when you’re not using it. Does Johnny have a key? Even <em>I </em>don’t have a key.”</p><p>“There’s a key on the master key ring for when the servants clean it,” Mr. Shelby said, his tone flat. Frances could tell that he was actually thinking about it now and coming to the same interpretations his wife was and not liking it. “I’d assumed the maid was cleaning when he came in.”</p><p>“That late at night?” Mrs. Shelby said. “That doesn’t make sense and you know it.”</p><p>Mr. Shelby sighed. “It doesn’t,” he admitted. “But Johnny wasn’t up to anything. I know him. I’ve known him for years. If he was up to something duplicitous, I would have noticed.”</p><p>“Exactly how much laudanum had you had when this episode took place?” Mrs. Shelby asked. Arthur Shelby’s jaw dropped. Frances couldn’t tell if he genuinely hadn’t known about the laudanum or if he was just shocked someone had mentioned it. Mr. Shelby didn’t say anything which apparently was the response Mrs. Shelby had been expecting. “That’s what I thought. I’m sorry, Tommy, but I don’t trust your judgement when you’re high off your ass. We need another source.”</p><p>“What about the maid?” Arthur Shelby asked, which was about the first truly useful thing he’d suggested this whole conversation. “What happened to her?”</p><p>“She still works here, doesn’t she?” Mrs. Shelby said. “You didn’t fire her?”</p><p>“She’s still here,” Mr. Shelby confirmed, but didn’t do or say anything else.</p><p>“Then we need to talk to her,” Mrs. Shelby decreed. “Figure out what happened that night.”</p><p>Mr. Shelby sighed but managed to lever himself at least partway off the table, his hands clasping the back of his neck. “Frances,” he said, heavily. “Can you fetch Shandra for us?”</p><p>Mrs. Shelby and Arthur Shelby both jumped. They apparently really had forgotten Frances and Edith were there, though Mr. Shelby obviously hadn’t.</p><p>“Yes, sir,” Frances said, then dared to go on, “Though I do think that you should consider taking a bath and then resting for a few hours. You’re not in a fit state to—”</p><p>“Frances,” Mr. Shelby interrupted. “I’m fine. Please get Shandra.”</p><p>He really wasn’t fine. He’d been about to kill himself an hour before and he still hadn’t managed to contain his visible shaking. Frances almost said that, but all the Shelbys were staring at her and could she really be the one who told them? Would they even believe her?</p><p>“Alright,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”</p><p>She hurried up the steps, her mind racing. She had to say something. Mrs. Shelby and Arthur Shelby didn’t know what had happened and Mr. Shelby had obviously decided not to say anything. Things wouldn’t get better if handled that way. In fact, they probably would just get worse. Frances had to <em>do something</em>.</p><p>She found Shandra in the sitting room dusting the mantle. She looked down from her stool when Frances came in. “Yes, ma’am?”</p><p>“You’re needed in the kitchen,” she said heavily, sorry to be the bearer of bad news. “The Shelbys want to speak with you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, I realized a couple hundred words from the end that not only did I accidentally write a fic that doesn’t really fix much by way of the 5x06 cliffhanger, I also accidentally wrote a fic that kind of needs a sequel. We’ll see if that ever happens, I guess. I am interested in writing Lizzie, Arthur and Tommy interrogating Shandra and I have some ideas about what would happen going forward. I do think they’re ruling Michael and Gina out a bit too quickly here.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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